


Punch Drunk Love

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Mystrade Story Times [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Christmas Party, Drunken Flirting, First Kiss, John & Sherlock throw a party, M/M, Spiked Punch, Twitter #MystradeStoryTimes, but only to prevent staining, from punch you pervs, men flirting badly, some nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 14:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18501121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Although Greg wasn't in the best of moods for a Christmas party, he figured some very strong punch couldn't hurt. What ended up making his night, however, was the connection he forged with Mycroft.





	Punch Drunk Love

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my Twitter (@savvyblunders) as part of #MystradeStoryTimes for @MyAngloFiles

Sighing, Greg flopped onto the ancient sofa, careful not to spill his punch. He didn't actually _like_ punch, but John'd assured him he'd spiked it with enough vodka to make this a Very Merry Christmas indeed. "And a happy fucking new year."

"A curiously pithy sentiment," as smooth voice intoned as Sherlock's brother sat down with care at the opposite end.

"How are ya, Mycroft?" Greg asked, trying to sit on his actual arse rather than his spine. Musn't look like a slob in front of the most dapper man in London.

"Middling. And yourself, Inspector?" As ever Mycroft was polite, but over the years his tone had come to be far friendlier, even if the man himself seemed incapable of breaking through the barrier of formality with which they had started.

Greg decided to help him out. "Asked you to call me Greg," he mumbled into his punch. His very strong punch. Wow. John hadn't been kidding. "Yes of course...Gregory." He snickered, "'m I in trouble?"

A brow rose as Mycroft regarded him over his own healthy serving of punch. "Are you?"

"You used my full name."

"I dislike diminutives," Mycroft finally took a drink and his eyes widened. "Good Lord," he stared into his cup, astonished.

"Puts hair on your chest," Greg quipped.

"I've sufficient, than you," Mycroft said absently, then seemed to realize what he'd said and went slowly pink.

Greg found it stupidly charming. He grinned toothily, "How bold of you, Mycroft. Just how much punch _have_ you had?"

"Too much or not enough, clearly," Mycroft lamented with a touch of humour. He smiled at Greg, looking quite friendly. "Does no one really call you Gregory?"

"Just m'mum--and the chief super, when I'm in trouble," Greg answered, draining his cup. "Get you another?"

Mycroft quaffed his drink hastily and handed it over, "When in Rome..."

Refills in hand, Greg rejoined him, choosing to sit a bit closer--purely to make conversing easier. Talking with Mycroft was surprisingly easy, Greg found. What was more, it was fun. Whether it was the season or the punch, he seemed to unwind as the evening progressed. He even loosened his tie & unfastened the top button. Greg had trouble not staring at the peek of chest hair. On Greg's fourth--or maybe fifth--trip to refill, he came back to find a careless party-goer had spilled punch on one of the three cushions. "Cozy," he winked, sitting down next to Mycroft.

"Drunks are so careless," Mycroft hemmed, burying his nose in his drink. His ears were pink.

Greg was nothing if not helpful, "You should take off your jacket in case of spills. And your tie. And your waistcoat." 

Mycroft blinked a bit foggily but nodded, "Yes," he said gravely, "Good idea." Clutching the rim of his cup between his teeth he began removing clothing. He mumbled something.

"What's that?"

Flinging his tie on the table, Mycroft took his cup in hand. "You should do the same."

Greg looked down at himself, feeling pleasantly warm, "'m not wearing a tie."

"Your shirt," Mycroft assured him, "is too nice to spoil."

Greg obliged by taking off his three year old H&M shirt. Good thing the vodka was so potent. Otherwise he might be cold in just his trousers and vest top. Greg gulped a bit more punch and licked his lips. "'s it hot in here or is it just me?"

"You're definitely hot," Mycroft assured him. His eyes were owlishly huge and his cheeks very pink.

"You're so cute like this," Greg cooed, tickled at how adorable Mycroft was. "Normally you're all...lofty. Now you're just a-a softie." He giggled.

Mycroft's eyes were enormous, "I? Cute?" His world appeared to be shaken. Greg patted his leg soothingly. Mycroft gasped gently. They stared at one another, both going bright red, as tingles of attraction washed through them.

"'m gonna kiss you," Greg breathed.

"Yes please," Mycroft said softly. He let Greg take his cup & set them to the side. He made no objection when Greg framed his face in his hands. Greg brushed his thumbs over Mycroft's hot cheeks as they breathed for a moment, staring into one another's eyes. The party faded away as they got lost. Mycroft drew in a trembling breath and brought his hands up, one landing on Greg's shoulder, the other stroking his throat. Eyes drifting shut, Greg leaned in, taking his time, not wanting to rush it. Finally his lips brushed Mycroft's and they sighed simultaneously. Another soft stroke and then they settled in, the kiss slow and tender. Greg let his fingers idle up into Mycroft's hair. 

Mycroft responded by sliding cool fingers up the back of his neck, drawing a shiver out of him. His lips curved against Mycroft's, whose own tipped up in response. Pressing their foreheads together, they sat for a moment, smiling.

"This is nice."

"Very nice," Mycroft agreed, smiling more broadly. His fingers played deliciously along the shell of Greg's ear.

"It'd be a shame to let it end tonight." Greg bit his lip, unable to take it further.

"Would it be terribly forward to suggest a date on Christmas Day?" Mycroft's smile was assured of a positive reply.

"I've no plans." Other than eating a ready-meal in his pants. No need to share _that_ however.

"There's an excellent Thai restaurant open all year," Mycroft offered, "We could meet there...or dine at mine?" His smile was tentative, hopeful.

"What kind of wine goes with Thai and infatuation?"

"Any kind," Mycroft breathed, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> 4/18/19 I did some quick edits to formatting that were bothering me since this was posted on Twitter with character restrictions. I added one or two tiny details but nothing that changes the story at all!


End file.
